


Band Kids.

by Nivena (orphan_account)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC Cinematic Universe, DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV), Justice League of America (Comics), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Multi, characters listed in order of appearence, so much drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Nivena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the shitty high school band kids au nobody ever asked for</p><p>guest starring stan lee as the "on a scale of one to Principal Snyder, he's Dumbledore" principal, maria hill as god, and wade wilson as ryan reynolds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band Kids.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: 100% not my fault and i bear no responsibility for this
> 
> also this was mostly written at 12 AM which we all know is prime fic writing time

There are currently three people waiting in the office to speak to the vice principal, each for very different reasons. One is Slade Wilson, who brought a pair of knives to school. He still has them, mostly because nobody really wants to be the one to try and pry them from him. He sits with a look of straight anger on his face

 

The second is Cisco Ramon, who just needs to confirm his, Barry's, and Caitlin's entry into the state science fair. They’d been preparing for months and were eager to win the grand prize. He is also sitting as far away from Slade as humanly possible, while still in the chair next to the guy.

 

The third person, whom Cisco is all but hugging, well-

 

"Hey! Hey Cisco! Guess what I'm in for!"

 

"I don't know, Wade," says Cisco, very pointedly. "Does it have to do with your lack of pants?"

 

"Not really!"

 

Cisco sighs. It's going to be a very long day.

* * *

Maria Hill sighs. Today has been a long day.

 

This is her fifth time at the coffee shop this morning, and the barista is eyeing her with something that looks akin to fear. She glowers a little harder, in case he even  _ thinks  _ of cutting her off.

 

The pimply teenage boy behind the counter gulps and takes her order.

 

Her phone buzzes immediately, and Hill takes a couple seconds to physically freeze and contain her rage.

 

_ Mr. Lee:  _ hey i thin k someone's dead can you please take care of that asap

stan lee out

 

"Make it a triple shot."

* * *

The vice principal storms past them, the stench of extremely potent coffee following her. Cisco nervously fidgets in his seat, violently enough for her to notice.

 

She takes a very long breath, and then points to all of them with one manicured finger.

 

"All of you. My office, now. Mr. Wade, either you change into PE shorts, or I give you an extra skirt." 

 

"I kinda sorta burned my PE clothes last Tuesday. Needed to start a fire for my new pet lizard."

 

"Of course you did," Ms. Hill sighs, then propped open her door. "Skirt it is."

 

Cisco very definitely does not wait for Slade to go in first, and he very definitely is not afraid of the man, but he also absolutely refuses to turn his back to the  _ alleged  _ gangbanger.

 

Then Wade smiles at him, and he feels that the brother isn't really much better.

 

They all file in, and each take a seat, in perfect precision. Cisco begins to nervously rock forward, eyes darting all about the office. He kind of expected something much….  _ neater. _

 

There were hundreds upon hundreds of opened manila folders on the great oak desk, papers spilling together so much that Cisco doubted any use could have come of that system. It was probably for effect, anyways. The desk itself seemed designed to intimidate, but the aura was slightly negated by the dark stains of what may be coffee, scattered around the legs of it.

 

Ramon didn't even notice he was tapping his foot until Slade leaned over to him and growled out something that was either "Stop that" or "Sound out." He decided to err on the side of caution and immediately and painfully froze all body movement. Even breathing.

Ms. Hill walked around the desk, the intimidating click of her high heels not negated at all by the carpeted floor. She took her seat heavily at the spinny chair on the other side of the oak behemoth, and sighed heavily. She looked heavily at each one of them in turn, before finally remembering Wade's state of pantslessness.

 

Pulling a neatly folded business skirt out of the bottom left drawer of her desk, she calmly handed it to the younger Wilson twin.

 

"It's not really my style, Ms. Hill," he complained, holding it against his hips. "I could  _ never  _ pull off plaid the way you do!"

 

She let out one of the deepest sighs he had ever heard, barring that one time Joe caught him with the miniature zeppelin. "Please, just put something on."

 

Wade grumbled a little and complied, wiggling his ass a little more than necessary.

 

"Cisco, what did you do?"

 

"Me?" He squeaked. Well, not squeaked. He can't help it, he has a naturally high voice! And he didn't even do anything wrong, and it wasn't fair that he was being targeted by the harsh tone of Ms. Hill. Because he had the bad luck of being sent to the office the same day as the Wilson brothers, and it was just a huge coincidence and god does God hate him because there was no wa- 

 

"Just tell me why you're here."

 

"Uh, I have my application for the state science fair and I need approval and-"

 

"Oh, thank god, you're a nerd," she blurted out with obvious relief.

 

Cisco takes a couple seconds to be slightly offended, before trying to cut in again. "So if you could just sign this, and I could leave, that would be great."

 

She ignores him.

 

"Slade, hand me your knife."  

Slade hands her the knife. This woman is God.

 

"Wade, what the hell did you do?"

 

"Well, um, officially? I kind of sort of set the stage curtains on fire? But don’t worry, no one's dead yet." He nodded very enthusiastically and unconvincingly. There was no way this kid was an actor.

"The fireproof stage curtains? The fireproof, as of state  _ law _ , stage curtains?"

 

"I can be very determined."

 

Maria stares at him for a couple seconds, before quickly swivelling over back to Cisco. "Hand me that paperwork," she says, eyes never leaving Wade.

 

Cisco hands her that paperwork. She draws a quick X over the signature line, and hands them back to him. "There, you can go now."

 

"Um, are you sure we won't be disqualified? Because I don't think that ‘x’ counts as a signature and we really need this and it’s important an-"

 

"Go. Now."

 

"Yes ma’am!" He quickly exited the room.

* * *

Life is pain. Life is nothing. At all. But brutal, messy, pain. It is the biggest whore, it screws us all and leaves us with nothing. It hurts each and every-

 

"HI BROOSE!"

 

-one of us with deliberate, exacting-

 

"BROOSE!"

 

-precision, a torture master in it's own right-

 

“AY, BROOOOSE!”

 

“GODDAMMIT, MY NAME IS BRUCE.”

 

"Damn, Bruce, Chiiilll. No need to get, uh, yeah."

 

That  _ wonderful _ specimen of the human species was Clark Kent, a boy, not yet man, with oil-slick hair and eyes like limpid ice tears. He was the type of student who no one particularly disliked. An avid photographer, he maintained a solid 4.0 GPA, but had time for numerous extracurriculars. He somehow found time to lift weights often, which gave him a rock hard abs and made him really hot  _ notthatbrucenoticedatall. _ He smiled too much, like life hadn't gotten its claws into his soul and sucked the soul marrow from his soul-bones yet. He looked like a smile.

 

Bruce looked up from his black notebook, which he nicknamed his Death Note, and adjusted his mirror-y sunglasses, squinting at the dark. He really shouldn't wear sunglasses inside, but they hid the human softness and vulnerabilities playing out on his open face. And then again, Bruce wore a large black trenchcoat no matter WHAT season it was. He was never seen without his artfully ripped black skinny jeans with little pretentious chains hanging out of the pockets, and his multitude of wristbands, all in different shades of black and gray. For example, the one on his right wrist was pale black, and the one on his left was neon grey. Clark didn’t know such colors could exist, but that changed when he saw Bruce.

 

"Please leave me alone," Bruce attempted to rumble in a deep baritone. His voice cracked midway, however, ruining the attempted illusion of badassery. This was easily one of the many reasons Bruce had no friends.

 

"Man, you're like sixteen. You need friends, or else you end up being the next socially awkward hermit in the corner of the 7/11 trying to blow up schools and insisting on being called J.D."

 

"Actually, it's Batman." 

 

"Bruce, please chill. Look, I know you’re into bats or whatever, but you can’t honestly tell me anyone has ever gone for the whole  _ batman _ thing can you? How do you get laid?" 

 

"I don't need to. It is the burden I bear for taking on the mantle." At this point, even the nicest Clark had a cringed look on his face.

 

"Yeah, uh, Bruce. Um. Man, it's three days into the new school year can you at least wait a bit until you do this."

 

"Do what?"

 

"The, uh," Clark gestured politely at the emo. "Um, the whole  _ goth  _ thing? Yeah, can we just, just do something a bit more normal to ease into our junior year? Try not to, you know, antagonize people? I heard there's a new transfer, maybe if you're a bit more, I don't know, conforming? Maybe you two can be friends?"

 

Bruce stiffens, "You laugh because I'm different, I laugh because you're all the same."

 

"Goodbye, Bruce." Clark walked away shaking his head in disappointment. Bruce was a lost cause.

 

* * *

“Hey, you know that distilled caffeine thing you made that you can inject and looks really disturbingly like drugs?” Barry asked, quicker than Cisco could follow.

 

“Yeeees?”

 

“I need like, enough for fifty-six hours.”

 

“That’s, uhm, very specific and vaguely terrifying? Why, and will Joe kill me if he finds out?”

 

“I need to distill a bunch of compounds for this that takes six hours and the rest is because I’m totally ignoring all my schoolwork so I need to catch up, and I also need to go to school because apparently I’m not allowed to skip it more or else I’m under probation? Suspension? Whatever, anyways I need caffeine.” Barry did not stop for breath as he rattled that out. Cisco was impressed.

 

“Yeah, I think I have ethical issues with aiding that. Also, you sound like a junkie.”

 

“Who sounds like a junkie?” Caitlin, resident Mom Friend, walked in with approximately five tons of notebooks and papers balanced in her arms.

 

“Barry,” Cisco answered, precisely when Barry answered, “Not me.”

 

There was a beat, where nobody moved, before Caitlin heaved all her work on the desk nearest to a microscope and sighed.

 

“Barry, if you’re doing drug…”

 

“I’m not!” He yelped, hands up.

 

“Technically,” Cisco pointed out, “caffeine is a drug.”

 

“It’s not illegal, and that’s all that matters,” responded Barry. Caitlin glared, and he amended, “And I am not abusing it, and am putting my health first.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“It’s impoooooortant,” He whined, turning to Caitlin, who had yet to speak.

 

“I don’t actually want to know. Unless you’re not figuring out the Life Equation, because then it’s my duty to tell you to hurry the hell up, and that the state science fair is in like, four months.”

 

“Five.”

 

“Four, Cisco. I checked.”

 

Barry raised his eyebrows excitedly and pointed at Caitlin. "She approves! Ha!"

 

" _ Only  _ if you do all your work."

 

"Okay,  _ mom _ ."

* * *

"Those are my drumsticks. Don't touch them."

 

The benefits of being six feet tall. People don't touch your stuff.

 

Diana scowled and heaved her backpack up on to her shoulders. The last person she talked to had tried to smack her ass, so she kicked his in return.

 

Now everyone was  _ avoiding  _ her, which, rude. Well, not everyone.

 

"Diana, wait up!" Her sister called, rushing to catch up. She quirked an eyebrow and fell into step with her, smiling reassuringly. Transferring out of Themyscira's School for Young Women was terrifying, but ultimately gave them the freedom both sisters craved so much. Today was Donna's first day, and the younger Amazonian woman had yet to grow accustomed to the co-ed nature of SLAMG.

 

"What class are you going to?" The elder asked, hiking her pack up and glaring at the guy frowning at her short shorts.

 

"Uh, math. With Mr. Al Ghul?"

 

Diana made a sympathetic noise. "Yeah, he kind of sucks. Legend has it he threw a kitchen knife at a student."

"Wow. Can I reconsider. Is it too late to transfer back? I should have known it, I can't handle this I'm trans-"

 

Diana grabbed her by the shoulders. "Donna, you can handle it. You're going to kick ass, and I know it.."

 

Donna smiled up at her, vaguely less nervous than before.

 

Job well done.

 

* * *

People stare at him a lot. It's not very fun, but he supposes that's what he got for not getting the 'realistic' looking prosthetics.

 

"Hey, check it out, he's a cyborg!" Someone yelled. Suddenly, a white guy rushed up to him. Tensing, Vic got ready to defend himself.

 

"Dude, is that the Flex-Foot Cheetah? Would you look at that? Is that real carbon fiber reinforced polymers?"

 

"I am  _ so  _ sorry, he has not slept in a while and  _ may _ be high, please excuse him," a black girl said, tugging on the white guy's arm. He was still inspecting Vic's fake foot, which made him intensely uncomfortable for a reason he couldn't quite describe.

 

"How'd you lose it?" The guy asked suddenly, looking up at him.

 

" _ Barry! _ " The girl admonished, then looked at him apologetically. "I am  _ so, so  _ sorry for my brother. He doesn't understand societal bounds very well."

 

"Car accident," Vic said gravely, staring down the white guy. "He's your brother? You two don't look alike."

 

That was understating it.

 

"Yeah, he's, uh, adopted. Now, uh, we need to get to class and Barry, please stop ogling the guy's foot."

 

"Hey!" Victor called out at their retreating backs. "I don't know your name!"

 

"Iris West!" She yelled over her shoulder.

 

He smiled. "Victor Stone."

* * *

Arthur Curry had just made captain of the swim team, in his junior year.

 

So why did he feel so unfulfilled? Why wouldn't anyone just respect him for who he is?

 

Why did he still have to hide it?

 

It was difficult, having to suddenly make up for an extra fifteen pounds of weight. Even the lightest, most realistic prosthetic, still was more unwieldy and weighed more than a real hand.

 

It also disqualified him forever from swimming in legal sanctioned competitions. And Arthur highly doubted that there were illegal street swim meets.

 

He'd been relying on his prosthetic being top-of-the-line, and hardly different looking from a real one, but a single metal detector would be enough to kick him off the team, and probably even strip him of his medals.

 

He knew what had happened to Victor Stone. That would not be him.

 

_ Swimmers, take your marks _ .

 

So he hides it. He can't afford to give this up.

 

_ Go! _

* * *

Kendra could not believe she just had to file a goddamn restraining order.

 

That amount of bullshit fuckery she is experiencing right now is going to be the death of her. Not to mention the sheer amount of  _ paperwork _ that goes into these legal processes. She'd admire lawyers, if they didn't skeev her out so much.

 

She stood in the office, waiting to turn in her final bits of paperwork, when the bell rung. She cursed under her breath.

 

So many of her problems could be placed at the feet of Vandal, and damn right, it was his fault she was missing her first class of the day too.

 

"Here. It's my restraining order," She said curtly, handing the signed papers over to the secretary. Any other day, she'd feel bad about how roughly she was treating people who didn't deserve it, but today, she was stressed.

 

"Hey, Kendra."

 

Taking a deep breath, she turned. "Not today, Carter."

 

"But-"

 

"I am so done with all of you."

* * *

Journalism was the class that Louis Lane was  _ made  _ for. Her bedside wall looked like something out of a crime show, every school newspaper article she'd ever written tacked up on there. Her laptop was overloaded with half-finished drafts of current events reports and investigative pieces, all done for fun. And she could grill someone for information better than the CIA.

 

Basically, she lived, ate, and breathed journalism.

 

Which made her the number one source for all the new drama.

 

"So, Louis," Iris sidled up to her, falling into step. "You got any idea who the new transfer students are?"

 

"Would it be any use saying no?"

 

"Hah! No."

 

"Well, if it's any news to you, this year's Battle of the Bands is going to be the place to be."

 

"Iris, we go to a music school. When is it not?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, but I heard that there's a group of juniors at Grimmwick High-"

 

"Ugh, Grimmwick."

 

"-and they're all amazing in their own rights, and they've just formed a band."

 

"Which ones?" Louis asked, curiosity piqued.

 

Iris smiled innocently. "Well, you finding out depends entirely on if you happen to tell me exactly who the new transfers are."

 

"You are evil. There's a new kid in our grade, actually…"

 

* * *

"Welcome to Henrietta! It's the most scenic place in the United States!"

 

J'onn took one look at the graffiti and square, gray-green buildings.

 

"Yeah, sure..."

 

"So, what city are you coming from?"

 

"Mars."

 

"Like…"

 

"Like the planet." He said this with a straight face. Kara has honestly been trying for the entire conversation to get him to at least break his monotone.

 

"Kara Danvers." She smiled awkwardly, sticking out her hand. J'onn stared at it uncomprehendingly for a second, before shaking it. 

 

“J’onn J’onzz,” He answered, pausing for a second before stretching his lips in the most unconvincing smile known to man.

 

"We," she clapped her hands together, spinning around, "are off to a great start. Come on. I'll show you the school."

 

She immediately began marching towards the largest of the squat buildings, presumably the school. All the while, keeping up a stream of chatter, enough for J'onn to not be able to get a word in edgewise.

 

"So," she finally slowed down. "What instrument do you play?"

 

"Pardon?" He asked, struggling a little to keep up. For such a small girl, she walked with  _ very  _ large strides. 

 

"It's called Stan Lee's Academy for the  _ Musically  _ Gifted. You gotta play an instrument to get in."

 

"Yes. I'm a pianist (i think?)."

 

"Oh. That's cool! My cousin's one too! I mean, he plays all instruments ever invented, buuuuuut I'm not jealous at all! Well, maybe a little. But he's got a terrible singing voice, so it's a good thing I'm a vocalist. Hey, you want to start a band?"

"Uh…"

 

"Re _ lax _ , I'm joking! I already got my own band! You should check us out sometime, we're competing in the Battle of the Bands in a few months."

 

"The what."

 

"It's literally exactly what it sounds like, a bunch of bands get together and have a play-off, and whoever wins usually gets a prize like money, or cool stuff, or gets to perform with someone like Rihanna or something!"

 

J'onn was quickly learning that Kara Danvers’ every sentence ended with an exclamation mark. Before he had a chance to respond, she grabbed him be the sleeve of his hoodie, and dragged him through several bike cages and into the hallways of the building. 

 

"Okay, quick detour, has  _ nothing  _ to do with seeing my ex, let's get you to the office."

 

"Romantic drama?" J'onn asked sympathetically?

 

"In this school? Always."

 

What the hell did he get himself into?


End file.
